


A Debt to Pay

by roidadidou



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: not a shipping fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roidadidou/pseuds/roidadidou
Summary: An AU where Cuphead and Mugman work at the casino as dishwashers as punishment for losing the deal with the Devil.





	1. the first one i guess

The boys couldn’t be happier when Elder Kettle had decided that they had healed up enough to play outside again.  
Missing school was fun, but not when you weren’t allowed to leave the house at all. And for ten days! Cuphead and Mugman thought they were going to go crazy if they had to spend another minute trapped in bed. Chicken pox was a drip...  


As soon as their guardian had told them they could go outside, the twins darted out the door like freed prisoners. On any other day, they would have argued about what they should spend the day doing. But as soon as one of them suggested an activity, they immediately followed through. First they went fishing. Then they played football. Then they went through the forest, flipping over rocks and logs to see what was hiding underneath.  


The sun was at its peak in the sky when they were running about, flailing their butterfly nets in an attempt to catch butterflies that passed by. Elder Kettle, who had been watching the boys, was now napping in his rocking chair. Cuphead, upon seeing him asleep, dropped his net and turned to Mugman.  


“Hey, Mugman, I know what we’ll do next.”  


“What?”  


“You know those train tracks at the end of Inkwell Isle, with the big fancy sign at the cave that says ‘try your luck?’”  


Mugman was hesitant.  


“We aren’t supposed to go on the other side of the tracks, Cuphead.”  


The red-clad boy danced about in a fidgety manner, his fists held to his chest with anticipation.  


“But I wanna see what’s over there! We’re lucky, ain’t we? Lucky we didn’t have to spend another day inside!”  


Normally, Mugman was the leash that held Cuphead back. But even he couldn’t refuse the tantalizing taste of satisfaction that would come with finally knowing what laid inside that cave.  


And so they went, sneaking off as Elder Kettle snored in his chair, to what they would later know as their worst mistake.  
___  


“Snake eyes!” Laughed the devil while slamming the floor.  


“You lose!” The brothers trembled in fear as he loomed over them.  


“Now, about those souls…”  


The brothers pleaded for their very lives.  


“Th-there must be another w-way to repay you,” Mugman stammered.  


“Yes, p-please, mister!” Cuphead added.  


“Hmm, perhaps there is,” the Devil stated, rubbing his chin in thought.  


“King Dice, my loyal lackey, wasn’t it just yesterday when we lost two of our busboys?”  


King Dice, with his hands held behind his back, raised to his heels then back to the ground again.  


“Yes, I believe so! They were smuggling their tips, weren’t they?”  


“Indeed! To the last circle of Hell, they went!” The devil said, with a booming laugh that shook the boys’s ribcages.  


“Get up! Up, on your feet, boys, I’m giving you a job to do!”  


The boys stood, reluctantly, shaking.  


“From now until your debt is paid, you’ll be working here!”  


“D-Doing what?” Cuphead asked nervously.  


“Whatever I tell you to!” The devil shouted.  


“Washing dishes! Taking orders! You’ll polish the paint on King Dice’s pips if I say so!”  


The devil stood, composing himself.  


“King Dice, why don’t you take these boys and get them fitted for uniforms? Show them around. Beat them into submission, I don’t care.” The devil said, heading off for his office with a wave of his hand. Dice nodded with a bow, then turning to the new employees.  


“Quit your crying,” He said nonchalantly, as Cuphead and Mugman wiped their eyes.  


“It affects productivity.”  
___  


“So how long are we gonna have to work here?” Cuphead asked, as a seamstress took his measurements. King Dice lounged in a nearby chair, waiting for them to finish.  


“Well, you did bet on all the loot in the casino, didn’t you? And you’ll be making twenty-five cents an hour… The casino’s worth almost a million dollars… A forty-hour work week...” He did the math on his fingers, mumbling to himself.  


“Oh, about one thousand, nine hundred and twenty-three years.”  


Cuphead and Mugman gasped, looking at each other with miserable desperation.  


“One thousand years!” Mugman cried.  


“Almost two thousand.” King Dice added.  


The seamstress became agitated as Cuphead ran to hug his brother, the two of them becoming a wailing mess on the floor. King Dice approached them, pulling on their collars until they stood.  


“Not to worry, boys! It doesn’t stop there. You can work overtime! You can work weekends! You can get a raise, if the boss likes you enough! And…” He said this part in a hushed, playful tone, as if he were planning a surprise party. “We’re trying to unionize.”  


Cuphead continued to moan.  


“What’s the difference? We’ll never see Elder Kettle again!”  


“Well, you might. Does he say his prayers before bed?”  


Their wails and sobs began to annoy Dice, yet he remained dignified.  


“Hey, now. It’s not so bad working here.”  


Mugman sniffed.  


“But we’re in Hell!”  


“So? This job comes with food, board, healthcare…”  


“Won’t we just go to Hell when we die?” Cuphead asked.  


“Nope! Working in the casino gets you both one-way tickets to limbo; land of the virtuous pagans and the unbaptized. It’s like life after death.”  


He stood straight, fixing his bowtie.  


“Now, finish up here with the seamstress. Then meet me in my office and I’ll show you the ropes.”  


He left with no remorse for the sensitive children, as Cuphead and Mugman sniffed and tried to recover.  
___  


“Well, it’s been a long day,” King Dice said, leading the boys down into the staff residence hall. He halted at one of the doors, pulling two keys from his pocket. He used one to unlock the door, letting it swing open.  


“From now on, you boys sleep in here.”  


Cuphead and Mugman entered the room, looking around. Two beds were neatly made, sitting in the middle of the room with their backboards against the wall. A desk, a bathroom, a closet… It was average living quarters.  


“You start at eight o’clock tomorrow. You get a break at noon, and the day’s over at five. The punishment for being late is spending the day in Hell’s circle for greed.” King Dice said, tossing the keys at them and pulling the door closed behind him.  


Cuphead caught the keys, handing one to his brother. Mugman flopped down on one of the beds.  


“Two thousand years…” He mumbled.  


Cuphead stood in silence, then began to whimper again.  


“Mugman, I-I… I’m sorry!”  


His brother sat up, looking at the tear-faced Cuphead.  


“What?”  


“I… I did this! I rolled the dice, and… And…” He couldn’t finish, choking and crying. Mugman stood, walking over to comfort his brother.  


“Aw, Cuphead, we’re both guilty… I shouldn't’ve let us go…”  


Cuphead sniffed.  


“E-Elder Kettle…” He mumbled.  


Mugman looked down, starting to feel bad himself. Then he glanced back up at his brother again.  


“At least we’ve got each other, right?” He said, putting on a smile.  


His brother sniffed again, wiping his cheeks clean and managing to display a grin in response.  


“Yeah. We do.”  


Mugman spread his arms out, and they shared a tight hug.  
___  


The brothers got up at seven and were ready by eight, and met the chefs in the kitchen to start work. The casino never slept; and after guests wined and dined all through the night, Cuphead and Mugman were presented with an impressive stack of dishes to be washed. Their arms were tired by ten, and they thought it’d never be over. Cuphead washed, Mugman dried… Conversation was able to make the monotony more bearable.  


The kitchen’s clock struck noon, and the boys were eager to rest. They darted to the break room for lunch.  


However, King Dice, as well as some of his friends, were waiting for them. Among the group was a ballerina wearing a roulette board for a tu-tu, a wooden monkey with two cymbals in his hands, and a skeletal horse.  


“Afternoon, boys! How’s your first day on the job?” The manager asked politely.  


“It’s hard work,” Mugman replied as they took paper plates and headed for the snack table. King Dice grabbed Mugman’s wrist, making him drop the plate. The boy was shocked, staring up at him.  


“Now, here at the casino, we’re like a family…” He began, putting an arm around Pirouletta and hugging her to his side.  


“But to get your name on our family tree, you gotta do a little… Initiation first.”  


The boys gulped.  


“What kind of initiation?”  


Dice stood the boys in the middle of the room, about three feet apart.  


“Hold your arms out like this…” He said, bringing their arms up to their sides, like the letter T.  


Standing behind them, Phear Lap placed weights around each of their wrists.  


“Now, here’s the deal. You stand there just like that, and we ask questions. Like a little quiz. You get it wrong, we put another weight on. You put your arms down, you gotta start over. Get five questions right and you’re done.”  


The brothers gulped.  


“Now, who’s got a good question for them?”  


Pirouletta raised her hand.  


“I’ll go. Who was the last king of Russia?” She inquired.  


“I know! Nicholas the second!” Mugman blurted. Everyone looked at Pirouletta, waiting for her approval.  


“Trick question. He was a tsar, not a king.”  


The brothers gasped as Phear Lap placed more weights on their arms, everyone else having a laugh.  


“I got one!” Mr. Chimes interjected.  


“You’re conducting a train that’s going across the whole country. When it starts in California, twenty people are on. It stops in Texas, fifteen people get on, and six people get off. It stops in Michigan. Twenty-four people get on, but twelve get off. It finishes in Chicago, where six people get off, and seven get on.”  


The boys scrambled to keep the numbers in their head.  


“What color is the conductor’s shirt?”  


The employees smiled and chuckled at the question, as Cuphead and Mugman looked at each other, then back to Mr. Chimes.  


“How are we supposed to know that?” Cuphead asked.  


Mugman mulled over the words in his head.  


“...Black? Because I’m the conductor.” He answered delicately. Mr. Chimes clapped his cymbals, whooping the way a monkey does.  


One weight was removed from each wrist. The questions went on, and on, and on. Math, history, riddles, school smarts and street smarts... It almost got boring when Mugman had to drop his arms and start over. But eventually, they reached five answers, and the weights were taken from them. They smiled and laughed and hugged each other, heading back to the snack table for a well-deserved lunch. Dice stopped them again, then pointing to the clock.  


“Took you boys a real long while to get that done… Ain’t it about time you head back to work? I think it is…” His voice was mocking. Annoying. The other employees laughed at them as they had to leave for the kitchen again, working their arms sore as the sound and smell of cooking food left them even hungrier.  
___  


Cuphead and Mugman had never enjoyed dinner more than when the clock struck five. It wasn’t bad food, too; the casino’s dining hall and kitchen could be considered a four-star restaurant. (Four isn’t a bad score at all.) They practically ripped their uniforms off as they headed for bed. Mugman fell asleep as soon as he flopped down on the mattress. But Cuphead laid awake, staring at the ceiling, twiddling his thumbs.  


What was Elder Kettle thinking? Was he looking for them? Would everyone think it was his fault for letting his boys run away?  


He stood, creaking the door open and leaving the room. He tiptoed down the hallway, seeing the soft yellow light coming through the bottom of the door from King Dice’s office. He stood in front of the door for a few seconds, wondering if he should continue. But he mustered the strength, and knocked three times.  


“Yes?” Came the manager’s reply.  


The door slowly opened, and Cuphead’s expression was nervous.  


“Something to tell me, boy?” King Dice asked, glancing up and setting his pen down from the paper.  


“Do you have, uh… Something I could write a letter with?”  


“A letter?”  


“For Elder Kettle. I bet he’s missing us something awful.”  


“I see.”  


Dice opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a clean piece of paper and a pen, and handing it to Cuphead.  


“I’ll heat up some wax, and we’ll seal the envelope for you. How’s that sound?”  


Cuphead nodded.  


“Thank you, Sir.”  


Dice’s smile was almost paternal in nature as he nodded.  


Cuphead darted back to his room, setting the paper and pen down on the desk. He turned the desk lamp on, glancing back to see if it would bother Mugman.  


Nope. He was out cold.  


Cuphead picked up the pen and thought. And thought, and thought… What would he write? What would he say that would make Elder Kettle feel any better?  


He finally set the pen to the paper, scratching away in his immature handwriting.  


_“Dear Elder Kettle,_  
_I’m sorry. We went across the train tracks when you told us not to. We lost a deal with the devil… And now we’re working in his casino as dishwashers. Please don’t be sad, Elder Kettle, we’re doing just fine. We get breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and nice warm beds to sleep in. King Dice says that we’ll be working here for two thousand years, but I think he’s bluffing. They’d lose count by that time. I’ll keep sending letters. Only write back if you want to._  


_-Cuphead”_  


He went back to Dice’s office with the letter and pen in hand. King Dice neatly folded the letter and slid it into a fancy red envelope, then showed Cuphead how to drip wax on the cover and press a stamp into it to leave the casino’s seal imprinted. Cuphead told King Dice the name and address, and he wrote it in clean calligraphy.  


“I’ll send this out for you tomorrow.” He said, putting it in his outbox.  


“Thank you again, Sir.” Cuphead said. He turned to leave, but stopped, and looked back at his boss.  


“How come you’re treating me different now?”  


“What do you mean?”  


“All day yesterday and today, you were big and tough and mean… But now you’re not.”  


“Well, you’re off the clock. No use in hazing you if you’re not getting paid for it.”  


Cuphead nodded, supposing he was satisfied with the answer.  


“I started out here as a kid, too, you know. Years older than you, but still a kid.” King Dice continued.  


“Really?”  


“Yep. I remember I wanted to write letters to my folks, too. The devil threw paper at me, and said, ‘you go ahead, boy, but you won’t get a single one back.’”  


“Did you?”  


“For a little bit. I thought it was the funniest thing that he was wrong. But it felt awful when they stopped coming. I think it would’ve hurt less if he were right.”  


They sat in silence, Cuphead fidgeting with his fingers.  


“You don’t think… That Elder Kettle won’t write me back, do you?”  


“I don’t know him well enough, kid. Get some rest.” The manager finished. Cuphead quietly left his office.


	2. second one i guess

It was odd that the Devil hadn’t seen King Dice once this morning. Hard at work in his office, he thought.  


But as he opened Dice’s office door, he was surprised to see the room empty. His next guess was that he was still in bed… What a slacker.  


He was proved right as he opened the manager’s bedroom door to see him snoring, covered in his heavy blankets. The Devil flicked the light switch on and off repeatedly.  


“You deadbeat, get up! That bed is gonna be your coffin, the way you’re sitting there like a board!”  


The manager stirred, but only a little. A muffled groan was heard. Frustrated, the Devil went over to the bed, ripping off the blankets. But he stood back in surprise to see red blisters all over the manager’s head, and whatever skin the pajamas uncovered by rolling up in the night.  


“What’s wrong with you?! What are you, some kind of leper?!”  


A doctor was called as King Dice slowly woke up. The thermometer in his mouth was sweating, wiping its forehead with an elbow.  


“Nothing major. Just an average case of chickenpox.” The doctor said. The Devil pulled at the hair on the sides of his head.  


“Chickenpox?! From what?! Grown men don’t get chickenpox!”  


“On the contrary,” the doctor replied, turning to him.  


“Most people get it as children, yes, and never get it again. I’d say he’s been pretty lucky not to catch it by then, but when you spend so many years in an… Adult-oriented business, the odds are in his favor. Introduce some new contaminant, say… People who recently had it, maybe children, and his body is defenseless. He never built up any immunity for it.”  


The Devil rubbed his temples.  


“How long is he gonna be stuck like this?”  


“Well, let him rest, and I’d say about ten days. Push him too far, and he could be sick for two weeks.”  


“Wh-... bu- Ten days! Ten days?! I can’t run a casino with my manager like this!”  


The doctor shrugged.  


“I don’t know what else to tell you. He needs extra precaution- chickenpox can be particularly nasty for adults. Encephalitis, hepatitis, pneumonia…”  


King Dice gulped, pulling the blankets to his chin.  


The doctor pulled the thermometer from his mouth, shaking it and reading the temperature with a wince. He opened his medicine bag, pulling a glass bottle of a foul-colored liquid from it and setting it on the reading desk.  


“Take one tablespoon every three hours. It’ll help with the fever and sore throat.”  


He scribbled something on his clipboard, ripping off a note.  


“Here’s what you should do to keep him… Comfortable.”  


The Devil took the note, reading over it.  


“I can’t do all this! I’ve got a business to run!”  


“Then get someone else to watch over him. Maybe the person who gave it to him; so you don’t go spreading it around.”  


The Devil crunched the note in his fist.  


“He’s not gonna get me sick, is he?”  


“Well, chickenpox is usually spread with close contact. So unless you were planning on a candlelit dinner tonight, I wouldn’t worry.”  


And with that, the doctor left. King Dice wheezed trying to speak.  


“You don't suppose those - (hack!) cup brothers did it, do you?”  


The statement made the boss angry. He immediately went into the casino’s kitchen.  


“Cupface! Mugboy!” He shouted. The boys looked up from the sink.  


“You boys haven’t happened to had chickenpox recently, have you?”  


The brothers looked at each other.  


“Shoot, we had it the day before we gambled here.” Cuphead answered.  


The answer didn’t make their boss happy.  


“Follow me! Now!”  


And so they trailed behind him, hoping that what sin they inevitably committed wouldn’t garner too harsh a punishment.  


The Devil opened the door again, forcing the boys in.  


"Look what you did! My poor manager, stuck in bed because of you two!”  


King Dice was only embarrassed. How emasculating! Cuphead and Mugman giggled to each other.  


“Did the big tough man get chickenpox from two little boys?”  


“Laugh now, you two, because you’re gonna spend every day taking care of him until he can sing from F2 to G4 again.” He shoved the note in Cuphead’s hand.  


“Aw, what?” The boy groaned.  


“Do all the things on that list. If he’s not back to normal in ten days, I’ll use your heads for our evening tea!”  


The boys cringed as the door slammed. They turned to King Dice, who sat, fatigued with his arms crossed.  


“Hope you boys are happy… (wheeze…) I’m missing a performance next week ‘cuz of you two.”  


Cuphead pulled the note flat and read it, then looking to the medicine on the counter.  


“Every three hours… That’s not so hard. Get a spoon, Mugman.”  


Mugman pulled open the drawers of Dice’s breakfast bar, searching until he found the silverware. Cuphead poured the thick, viscous medicine until the spoon was filled.  


“Yum, yum,” He teased, nearing the spoon towards the manager’s mouth.  


“Here comes the train!”  


King Dice sneered.  


“I’m not taking that. That stuff’s practically snake oil.”  


Cuphead wasn’t satisfied.  


“Did you hear what the Devil said? Take your medicine, you big crybaby!”  


The manager turned to Cuphead with a disdainful frown.  


“No! Get that thing away from me!”  


“Take it! What, you scared of yucky medicine?” He set the bottle down to grab Dice’s shoulder, as if it would do any good to restrain him. Angry, Dice knocked the spoon out of Cuphead’s hand, and it rattled to the floor. In response, Cuphead picked up the bottle again and shoved the opening into the manager’s mouth. Disgusted, Dice pulled the bottle away, only to be forced a gross mouthful of the medicine. He swallowed it with a sickening grimace.  


“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Cuphead teased. Dice slammed the bottle down on his nightstand, and rolled over in bed, covering himself with the blankets.  


“Fine. You did your job. Now get out.”  


Cuphead and Mugman sat down on Dice’s couch.  


“Nah… He said we gotta take care of you, so we’re gonna take the whole day to do that.”  


“Whatever. Just be quiet.”  


They weren’t. He attempted to doze off, but the sound of quiet murmuring and giggling made it hard. He sat up, staring at them.  


“What’s so funny?”  


Cuphead sucked in a breath to compose himself, as Mugman continued to laugh.  


"Okay, okay, I got a joke, but I don’t think you wanna hear it.”  


“I don’t.”  


“I thought dice were only supposed to have twenty-one dots on them!”  


King Dice blinked as the boys were consumed by laughter.  


“You get one more. That’s it. Use it wisely.”  


Cuphead and Mugman calmed themselves.  


“You got any books to read in here? It’s awful boring.” Mugman asked.  


“I wonder why… I’ve got newspapers in that drawer over there.” He lazily pointed to one of the drawers at his desk. Mugman stood up and walked over to it. He pulled out the first drawer, then gasped loudly and slammed it shut.  


“The one below it.” King Dice muttered. Mugman followed his instruction, pulling out the second drawer and lifting up a stack of newspapers for him and his brother to read.  


“Those girls in your books oughta make a deal with the Devil for themselves,” Mugman said, sitting down again and searching the papers for the funny pages.  


“Why’s that?” King Dice asked.  


“He could help them get some clothes.”  
___  


Cuphead and Mugman had noticed that Dice was unable to sleep; rolling over on one side, then the other, and scratching at the red spots on his skin. When they got back from their lunch break, they re-read the list.  


“Do you want an oatmeal bath?” Mugman asked. He hadn’t heard of that treatment for chickenpox before. Elder Kettle certainly didn’t give them any.  


“I’d appreciate it.” King Dice responded, scratching under his chin.  


He was tired, and a little dizzy. So tired and dizzy that he didn’t notice just how many times Cuphead and Mugman were coming in and out of the doorways. He had almost fallen asleep when Cuphead shook him awake.  


“We set your bath up for you,” He said. Dice clumsily climbed out of bed, a hand to his forehead, the other on Cuphead’s shoulder in hopes that he wouldn’t topple over.  


The fatigue was beaten out of him as he saw their mistake. It would have been funny to him, if he wasn’t the one dealing with it.  


“O-oatmeal?! The whole tub! Oatmeal!” He stuttered loudly, looking with wide eyes at the mess.  


Indeed, the boys had hilariously misunderstood just what an oatmeal bath was, filling up the entire tub with fully-cooked hot cereal. The slop sat still in the ceramic tub, bubbles occasionally rising up and popping with a heavy noise.  


“What’s wrong?” Mugman asked.  


“It’s an oatmeal bath-”  


“A little bit! Of oatmeal! In the water! You- You don’t- You don’t do-... Whatever this is!” The manager continued to scream, pushing his hoarse voice to an unsettling scratch in everyone’s ears.  


Cuphead and Mugman turned away from him, looking into the tub.  


“You know, I was thinking that something about this was odd.” Cuphead stated.  


“Y-Y-You empty-headed neanderthals!” King Dice screamed.  


“Look what you’ve d- (cough!) done! You turned m-m-my b-bath-(hack!)bathtub into Grim Matchstick’s breakfast bowl!” His voice trailed off as he pushed himself into a coughing fit. The brothers were left stunned and a bit scared as their boss all but hacked up a lung. He rubbed his throat with a moan.  


He regretted his tirade as he heard the censored whimpers of the two brothers, who were near tears.  


“Now, boys, I-...”  


“D-don’t tell the Devil, please!” Mugman whined.  


“H-He’ll throw us in an a-a-acid pit, or s-something!”  


With a resigned sigh, Dice fetched a set of keys from his dresser.  


Meeting the boys again in the bathroom, standing in front of their unavoidable error, he fumbled with the keyring until he found the right key, bending down and holding it in front of their faces.  


“This is the key to the circle for gluttony. Whatever pots you used to bring the oatmeal in here, use them again to dump them down there. Take the elevator next to boss’s office, and if he asks, say it’s for the torture trainees.”  


Cuphead wiped his eyes and nodded, taking the key with a trembling hand.  


“Thank you, Sir,” The boys said in unison, leaving to fetch the oatmeal pots.  


King Dice pulled his hands down his face with exhaustion.  
____  


Cuphead and Mugman stood in the elevator, watching the lights of each floor leave shadows that rose upward and disappeared. They each held a large pot of oatmeal in their gloved hands.  


“I feel kinda bad, Cuphead.”  


“Why’s that?”  


“King Dice is gonna miss one of his shows all ‘cause we gave him chickenpox.”  


“Well, what are we gonna do about it? Rehearse a tap-dance to replace his act?”  


They stood in silence.  


“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Mugman retorted.  


“We got a whole week to practice! We don’t even have to come up with one ourselves, I’m sure all the performers know one already!”  


The brothers became excited, eagerly conversing about their surprise plan to make up to their boss for getting him sick.  
____  


A week had passed with no surprising events. For seven days, Cuphead and Mugman had loitered in King Dice’s bedroom between rejected medicine doses, and (now correctly-done) oatmeal baths. They had ‘left for bed,’ and accidentally left his bedroom door open. King Dice heard Pirouletta conversing with Pip and Dot in the hallway.  


“Have you heard what those boys are doing? King Dice is gonna miss his show, so they came up with some cute little dance routine. They’re going up on stage in an hour.” Dot gossiped.  


“They’re gonna make a fool of themselves…” Pip added.  


Pirouletta audibly groaned in second-hand embarrassment.  


“I don’t think they should work here at all. This place isn’t a daycare.”  


“Get back to work, out there!” Dice shouted from his bed. He heard the three of them mutter, and shuffle off down the hallway. Reluctantly, he stood, stumbling over to the mirror above his dresser and eyeing himself. What a miserable mess…  


He bent down to open his liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle and a shot glass. After pouring a drink, he eyed the bottle, then chugged half of that instead.  


Cuphead and Mugman did warm-up stretches backstage. The band tuned their instruments, chuckling to each other about the performance that was about to take place.  


“Are you ready, Mugman?” Cuphead asked eagerly.  


“Ready for what?” Came a voice behind them. They stood and turned to see King Dice, clean, groomed and pristine. He finished tying the purple bow that sat atop his striking suit. There wasn’t a single red blemish left on his face.  


“K-King Dice? But… How-”  


“Boys, you’re free to watch me sing, but go straight to bed after.”  


“You.. You can’t go up there! You’re sick!” Mugman protested. King Dice’s expression was smarmy, and his hand gestured to his clean face.  


“Do I look sick to you? I feel fine. Now skidaddle, the show’s about to start.”  


Hesitantly, they left, but stayed just close enough to see. Dice briefly instructed his band to change the planned song.  


The curtains raised, and the audience was pleasantly surprised to see their favorite performer, who was energetically conducting his orchestra. He turned quickly to face his audience.  


_Folks, now here’s a story ‘bout Minnie the Moocher…_  
_She was a red-hot hoochie coocher…_  
_She was the roughest and toughest frail,_  
_Minnie had a heart as big as a whale,_  
_Ho-de-ho-de-ho!_  


He stretched his arms outward, gesturing to the guests to mimic him. Immediately, they repeated his scat back to him.  


_Ha-de-ha-de-ha-de!_  
_(Ha-de-ha-de-ha-de!)_  
_Hee-dee-hee-dee,_  
_(Hee-dee-hee-dee,)_  
_Ho-de-ho-de-ho…_  
_(Ho-de-ho-de-ho…)_  


“You think he’s really feeling better?” Cuphead whispered to his brother, watching King Dice perform. To anyone who hadn’t been spending time with him, they wouldn’t have believed you if you said he’d been sick with chickenpox. He was practically dancing.  
“I think something’s fishy… He was looking rotten before we left.” Mugman responded.  
The Devil, who sat in his office not far away from the performance hall, stopped counting coins as he heard his lackey’s voice. It hadn’t been ten days, had it?  
With curiosity stricken about him, he pushed open the hall’s doors and watched.  


_She had a dream about the king of Sweden,_  
_He gave her things that she was needin’,_  
_He gave her a home built of gold and steel,_  
_A diamond car with the platinum wheels…_  


If he had noticed his boss watching, then he certainly didn’t care. If this were someone’s first impression of the man, they’d think getting sick wasn’t even in him. But the two dishwashers were simply stunned to see their boss go from bed-ridden to Oscar-worthy in only an hour.  


_Poor man, poor man, poor man…_  


King Dice finished his song, the band ending on a literal high-note as a final blow from each instrument concluded the performance. The audience clapped and cheered, but the room went silent after they saw the singer fall straight to the ground with the sickening “FUMP” of all his weight hitting the wooden stage at once. Two band members stood and pulled him off stage, the curtains drawing closed.  


___

“You blockhead! You think you can go off scaring all my customers like that?!” The Devil berated Dice, who was now back in bed. Cuphead used a rag to clean the white makeup off of his head, revealing that his red blisters had only been temporarily covered.  


“I can’t make you happy, can I?” King Dice replied begrudgingly.  


“No! You can’t! Maybe if you tried harder, you would!” The furry demon replied, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.  


Mugman and Cuphead were solemn.  


“Why’d you do that? We were gonna go out there and dance. We practiced.” Cuphead said quietly.  


“You’re too good for this business, you know that? They were gonna humiliate you off the stage. I did it for your own good.” The manager retorted. The brothers went silent with surprise. Maybe they were surprised at the prediction of what would have happened, or maybe they were surprised with the good will being shown to them in such a harsh place.  


“You boys have cups for heads. You wash dishes. I’ve got a die for a head, I work at a casino. That’s just how the world works. Maybe someday you can go about messing with the order of things, but not when Satan himself is watching from his office.”  


He had a dry cough into his elbow.  


“Thank you, I guess. For keeping us from getting embarrassed.” Mugman said.  


“Thought I’d pass on the favor, I suppose. My brothers were always doing the same for me. I hated them for it, thought they’d never let me have any fun. Turns out they were saving my hide.” He used one hand to lift a bottle of whiskey on his nightstand, pouring it into a shot glass and taking a sip.  


“Every boy needs somebody to steer them right. There ain’t any good morals in this place for you two to learn. Sometimes I wish I could leave, but the boss won’t have that. He’d throw me down into that icey lake at the bottom of Hell, where all the traitors go…”  


He finished his drink as Cuphead and Mugman sat in his plush chairs, thinking reflectively. Eventually, one of them broke the silence.  


“You have brothers? Do all of them have dice for heads, too?” Mugman asked. King Dice was confused by the question.  


“What’s that got to do with anything?”  


“When you guys would play board games, would you fight over whose head you’d have to use?”  


The brothers cracked up, laughing and giggling while King Dice sat in his bed, disgruntled.


	3. the reason for the season

The casino had been decorated and festive as every employee, including the Devil himself, enjoyed Halloween and Thanksgiving. But after Thanksgiving, any sign of holiday cheer disappeared. Even as November turned to December, nobody seemed to bat an eye at Christmas slowly getting closer and closer.  


Cuphead and Mugman, however, remained hopeful. Doodling Christmas trees and snowball fights during their breaks, writing Christmas lists… But they wondered if working at the casino would put them on Santa’s naughty list.  


They sat in the break room, surrounded by other workers who chatted as they ate lunch. King Dice pulled a flask from his jacket and generously spiked his coffee. The door opened, and the Devil walked in nonchalantly, heading to the snack table.  


“Excited for Christmas, Sir?” Mugman asked. It was as if everyone had heard a gunshot; time stopped, and with fearful eyes, looked to the black demon to see just how he would react.  


The Devil turned to Mugman quickly, his yellow eyes staring daggers.  


“What did you say?!” His voice was powerful. Intimidating. Soul-crushing. Like a boot on one’s head.  


Cuphead and Mugman shrank in their seats.  


“I… I was just asking… If you-”  


With his horns curling like that of a goat’s, one arm stretched beyond proportion to rip Mugman out of his seat and bring the boy to the boss’s face.  


“You say that word again around here, and I’ll have your coffin as my footrest!” He was shaking Mugman as he spoke, spitting as he enunciated his harsh words. Cuphead came to his brother’s aid.  


“P-put him down! He didn’t mean anything!” He tugged at Mugman’s pant leg. The boss threw Mugman down to the ground, storming out the door, and slamming it so hard that one hinge came loose.  


Pip and Dot pulled Mugman up to his feet, brushing him off.  


“Are you okay?” Dot asked. Mugman nodded, sniffing and rubbing his eyes.  


“What’s his deal?” Cuphead asked with disdain.  


“The reason for the season,” Mr. Wheezy replied from his ashtray.  


“He don’t care too much for the man upstairs… Or any iteration of Him.”  


“But we celebrated Thanksgiving! Isn’t that kinda… Christian, in a way?” Cuphead asked, gesturing loosely with his hands.  


“Sure, if you remember all the times Christians senselessly murdered hoards of innocents.” Hopus Pocus added, his elbow resting on the brim of the hat he sat in.  


Everyone fell silent. Now, that’s an awkward topic.  


“Well, we can’t just go without Christmas! It’s the best time of the year!” Cuphead said with his arms spread outwards. King Dice finally spoke up.  


“Son, it’s been so many years since any of us have even heard the word. We’ve forgotten everything about it.” He said, taking another sip of his coffee.  


Cuphead hugged his brother to his side.  


“We’ll teach you! We’ll have a Christmas party!”  


The idea made everyone uncomfortable. They were left glancing away at nothing, or twiddling with their thumbs.  


“Aw, come on!”  


“You know what’s gonna happen if we do that?” Phear Lap was pessimistic.  


"The boss’ll find out. He’ll crash the party, come in and yell at us, and throw us in the lake of treachery. Except, this time, he’ll never come fetch us out.”  


Everyone seemed to agree.  


“You guys are too scared of him!” Cuphead protested.  


“What’s he got that we don’t?”  


“Unlimited power. Our souls bound by contracts.” King Dice spoke again from under his mug.  


Cuphead approached him, tugging on his jacket in the way a child does to pull at your heartstrings.  


“You said it yourself, King Dice… You said that sometimes you wanted to leave.”  


The manager remained silent. Cuphead turned around to face everyone.  


“He only has as much power as you want to give him! How many of you ever wanted to get out of here and see what you’ve been missing?”  


The question seemed to spark some interest as the casino’s workers began to remember what they left behind. Families, hobbies, dreams, goals…  


“If there’s a perfect time to protest, it’s now! We’re allowed to strike, ain’t we? We strike by having a Christmas party! We don’t just want a union! We wanna quit these lousy jobs!”  


There was a unanimous cheer of agreement… Except for King Dice, who was overlooked. He sat, quiet, perhaps traumatized by too many previous attempts to do the same thing.  
____  


As the days of December passed by, the boss had forgotten the incident in the break room. Until, that is, he began to notice some things that were… Odd. Hush-hush conversations in the hallway that dispersed as soon as he walked by. He couldn’t get as good of a scare out of his workers as he used to; something kept them from trembling in fear. Being the Devil, as well as a capitalist (though the two definitions had qualities that overlapped,) he could tell the signs of an upcoming worker strike. What were they after this time? Higher wages? Shorter work days? This part made him sick, but… A union? He sneered at the thought.  


Just like every week, a truck came to the back of the casino to unload the purchased drinks, ingredients, and other necessities. As he watched two skeletons unload the boxes, he noticed a label he hadn’t seen before; ‘peppermint.’ As one skeleton set the box down, he used his claw to cut the tape, opening it and seeing lined-up bottles of cooking essence. He took one with him.  


A knock came on King Dice’s door.  


“Yes?” He answered. The door opened to reveal his boss, who immediately sat down across from him and set the bottle on the desk.  


“Tell me, Dice, what’s this?”  


King Dice picked up the bottle with ginger hands and read the label.  


“Peppermint oil, Sir.”  


“I know! Why’d you order it?!”  


“Oh, I knew you’d be confused. Let me explain.”  


“Please, be my guest.”  


“When you walk through the casino, how many people do you see smoking? Or how many different kinds of cologne do you smell? It’s very overpowering, isn’t it?”  


“I suppose.”  


“I’ve heard a lot of complaints, Sir. It can make people sick. So I decided, if we put peppermint oil in various places, you know, mix it in with the drinks, or have the workers wear it like perfume, it might ease everyone’s stomachs. It smells mighty more pleasing than tobacco or men’s colognes. If it doesn’t work, that’s why I also ordered a box of vanilla oil.”  


The explanation was good enough for him. In fact, he believed it. How clever!  


“Ah, that’s why I put you in charge of this.” The boss said with a cheeky smile, tapping his forehead in a gesture of thought.  


“You’ve got those solutions in your head that I don’t. Carry on,” He said, picking up the bottle and leaving.  


As soon as the door was closed, Dice lost his professional composure, slumping back in his leather chair. He was quite the good liar, but not to his own boss. In reality, the oils were simply for cooking Christmas treats. Every employee was in on the plan by now; and to keep up the facade, he’d have to actually have everyone wear the stuff like perfume. He’d have to tell the bartenders to use it in their drinks. Otherwise, the boss might catch on. What an inconvenience…  
____  


December the twenty-third. The demon’s mind had begun to forget any suspicion of a strike or protest. His workers, while not seeming to be as afraid of him as they once were, treated him sweetly and with respect. Perhaps, if he were smarter, he might have recognized that some of them were patronizing him.  


He approached one of the casino’s many bars, sitting on a stool. The bartender, who was getting ready to leave, stopped to service one last customer.  


“What can I get you, Sir?”  


“Just a gin and tonic,” He replied. The bartender filled his request, then picking up his coat to clock out.  


“Leave your glass here, the next shift will get it.” He said, tipping his hat and running off. Just before the Devil brought the glass to his lips, he noticed a slip of paper fall out of the bartender’s coat. He bent over to pick it up.  


CHRISTMAS WORK PARTY  


DECEMBER 25 - 6 PM TO MIDNIGHT  


LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS -  


DON’T TELL THE BOSS  


His reaction was delayed as he processed the writing; but then, he was consumed with anger. The note was burned to ash in his hand.  


Did they think he wouldn’t find out? What did they take him for, some kind of fool?  


He could burst into King Dice’s office right now and accuse him, but he knew that the manager would just play dumb. The note didn’t say who was responsible for hosting. No, he would wait… He would let them have their fun, then catch them in the act. To him, that was a much more tempting prize; to have the evidence right in front of him, to be able to throw everyone who crossed him into that icey lake, watching the forgotten sinners drag them under the water in some attempt to save themselves. He smiled maliciously to himself, hoping he’d be able to sit patiently for a whole day. Revenge would be sweet, he thought.  
___  


Cuphead and Mugman, after a hard day’s work at dishwashing, headed straight to the break room to find it festively decorated. It took a lot of their help; apparently, nobody had remembered how to decorate for the holiday. Employees were already helping themselves to cookies, pastries, and hors d'oeuvres. Mugman headed for the eggnog bowl, lifting the dipper to pour the drink into his own head. King Dice stopped him, putting the spoon back.  


“I’d stay away from that punchbowl, if I were you,” He said.  


“Why?” Mugman asked innocently.  


“Let’s just say it’s a little too ‘festive’ for someone your age.” He finished with a wink, heading back to conversation. He was adorned in a red-and-gold suit for the occasion, even having covered his pips with red polish. Mugman shrugged and piled sweets and cookies onto a paper plate instead.  


For a few hours, the party was lively, with carols, gift-giving, and mistletoe catching many by surprise. The skeleton band, which usually played for King Dice’s performances, had no opportunity to rehearse any Christmas music without the Devil hearing. Instead, they tried their best to read the music sheets as they played, laughing with the rattling of bones as they were subject to common errors.  


The break room’s door opened again, and while some looked over, nonchalantly expecting another chef or bartender who just got off work, a wave of stillness and shock rushed over everyone as, one by one, they saw just who was standing in the doorway. The Devil himself.  


“Merry Christmas, eh? You didn’t even invite me,” He said, with a smug, condescending attitude. Ironically, he resembled Moses in a way, parting the crowd to walk through. Nobody would ever tell him that, though.  


“So, this is what that peppermint was for?” He picked up a cookie and smelled it, immediately catching the oil that King Dice had ordered. He crumbled it to dust in his fist, wiping his hand off on his thigh.  


He stood in the center of the room, inflicting a sense of guilt on everyone who was partying only minutes earlier.  


“I’ve done so much for all of you… I gave you a room, a job, my guidance… And this is how you repay me? By throwing a party behind my back, celebrating the very bane of my existence?!” His voice became progressively angrier, the mere thought of the Holy Trinity in his mind boiling his blood. He turned to the casino’s manager, clearly playing some kind of victim.  


“Et tu, Dicé?” He approached him, standing uncomfortably close, the eggnog in Dice’s cup rippling as his hands trembled. King Dice attempted to look away, but the demon’s hand on his chin forced his head back into focus.  


“Oh, you were my favorite, you know. My most trusted advisor. I would have given you everything.” His face turned from sad to sour.  


“And yet! Here you are, hosting this entire abomination!”  


“He didn’t plan this!” Came a juvenile voice. The Devil turned around to see Cuphead and Mugman.  


“We did,” Cuphead finished. The Devil sneered.  


“I should have known. You just don’t know how things work around here, do you?”  


He loomed over them, his appearance spider-like.  


“And you never will!”  


“We’re not scared of you!” Mugman resisted.  


“I’ll fix that!” The demon replied, his hand reaching out to seize them. But, to everyone’s surprise, a white glove held his wrist in place to stop him.  


“That’s enough!” King Dice shouted, forcing the Devil to humble himself.  


“You’ve crossed a line! These are children!” His boss wasn’t happy with the interference. His clawed hand reached out in a quick swipe, tearing three gashes into King Dice’s suit. Dice reeled back, and swiftly sent his boss stumbling backward with a hard punch.  


Pip and Dot held one leg out, and the Devil tripped and fell against the pool table. Mr. Chimes, sitting upon it, clapped the Devil’s head with his cymbals. The demon shouted in pain, holding his head as he struggled to get up. But as he stood, Mangosteen shot a spurt of ink into his eyes, blinding him and making him scream again. He slipped on alcohol poured out by the Tipsy Trio, falling on his back, and was quickly restrained by anyone who could grab onto him.  


With whoops and hollers of excitement, they carried him out of the break room, while he tried in vain to kick and struggle for freedom.  


“I thought you liked working here, I really did!” The Devil shouted, desperate at this point for any leeway.  


“I won’t let any of you get away with this! Let me go! Let me go!”  


He stopped as he figured out just where they were carrying him off to; the crowd, led by King Dice, heading down a long staircase, and at the very bottom, the Devil knew exactly was laid there; the final circle of Hell, made for traitors and those who violated the deepest of bonds. A frozen lake that captured the silent screams of anyone who was destined to spend eternity there.  


“I’ll let you have your party! I’ll give you vacations! I’ll even… I’ll even let you have your union! Please!” He bargained. Indeed, just as Cuphead predicted, he was powerless in the face of protest. When there was no fear to feed on, the Devil was left a trembling mess. Give him an inch, and he’ll take a mile, but his employees had rolled up the metaphorical measuring tape and threw it away.  


As King Dice unlocked the door, he found himself thrown on the rocky ground. He could feel the chill under his fur of the lake that loomed below him. He stood, his hands intertwined, begging the crowd.  


“I’ll do anything, please! Anything! Dice, you believe me, don’t you?”  


With a cheeky grin, King Dice straightened his bowtie.  


“The show’s over for you, buddy. Hi-de-ho!”  


And the gentle, yet swift push of his foot sent the Devil falling down the cliff. His impact broke the ice, sending a theatrical splash of water into the air. He struggled like an animal to pull himself out of the water, scraping at the ice with his claws, but it was no use. Sinners, desperate for even an instance of warmth or freedom, trudged through the water to pull at his fur, moaning and crying. It would have been a sad sight to watch, but it wasn’t. Not for anyone who stood on the cliff above, watching with delight as their freedom was given to them. With cheers of excitement and laughing and singing, everyone left up the staircase to party once more. They partied past midnight, with no worries left. Someone broke into the Devil’s office, and the crowd was overjoyed to rip up the contracts that bound them to the casino, as well as freeing every soul on Inkwell Isle who had been tricked by the Devil’s charms. Cuphead and Mugman were lifted into the air.  


“Three cheers for Cuphead and Mugman!” Someone shouted.  


“Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray!” Came the pleased responses.  
___  


The final nail was hammered into the final board that sealed up the casino’s doors. A crowd was standing outside of the now-empty building, making plans as to where they would go and what they would do. King Dice held a box of his possessions to his hip.  


“Well, boys, I didn’t think it’d work out.” He said, approaching Cuphead and Mugman, who were about to run home.  


“Where are you gonna go?” Cuphead asked. King Dice scratched the side of his head.  


“To be honest, I’m not sure. There’s not a soul in Inkwell Isle who’d take kindly to me.”  


“There’s two of them right here!” Mugman said happily. King Dice laughed warmly.  


“You may have the Devil’s casino on your résumé, but you boys are destined for Heaven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is my least favorite out of the three  
> hope you guys enjoyed this anyway lmao


End file.
